


Impure

by Bun (Kymopoleia)



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: (The latter will be a developing thing), (this is daniel here), Child Abuse, Creepy, Future AU, Kidnapping, Knives, MK - Freeform, Oral Fixation, This is weird, daniel isn't a happy man, it's a weird thing and a weird au, probably gore eventually, saliva, uhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 23:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Bun
Summary: He closes his window before he slides under the covers.For a while he dreams, of birds and white wings, of lollipops swirling green, of clouds of curly hair, but then he begins to see snowflakes piling on, warm winter coats, curling up under a fur by a fire on a freezing day.Finally the chill wakes him up, a creak of his floorboards (the one he specifically avoids) and his eyes slowly flutter open.His first reaction is confusion.





	Impure

**Author's Note:**

> so uhh this isn't actually a shippy thing and i know it probably seems really?? uh?? shady and creepy and sensual n shit but  
> it's literally not and i'm  
> this is to deal with some issues so uh ignore it if it makes u uncomfy// but it's  
> hello this is tailored specifically 100% to my needs and interests. if you need things tagged just comment and let me know.
> 
> also. daniel's gonna uh. put his hands in max's mouth a lot. kinda think like. him treating max like a dog. or something. idk it' sjust weird and i need to make this to be comfortable s o

When Max had come in for the night, there’d been a white raven on his pillow.

He was used to weird shit, having gone to Camp Campbell since he was seven, but there was something about the bird, it’s unnerving eyes, that sent a shiver down his spine.

Apparently he’d left the window open when he’d gone to school that morning, the curtain billowing in the mid-autumn chill. He shivered and batted the bird out with a binder from his desk, the creature cawing at him and showering his bed in feathers.

Still…

It was weird.

But he still sat down, did his homework, ate a microwave dinner, avoided his uncle, and kept to himself. He blasted trashy rap music through his headphones and let the sound numb the paranoia, let himself drift into calculus and history, not even the glow of his phone distracting him.

He gets into bed around eleven thirty after he trashes the flimsy plastic tray, after he tiptoes down the hall, after he tosses his sweater and jeans into the hamper and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a baseball tee from sophomore year- when he tried to get into sports but got kicked off the team after he lost his shit during a game when someone tripped him, after his uncle lost his shit for Max getting kicked off the team- after he washed his face in the bathroom and brushed his teeth.

He closes his window before he slides under the covers.

For a while he dreams, of birds and white wings, of lollipops swirling green, of clouds of curly hair, but then he begins to see snowflakes piling on, warm winter coats, curling up under a fur by a fire on a freezing day.

Finally the chill wakes him up, a creak of his floorboards (the one he specifically avoids) and his eyes slowly flutter open.

His first reaction is confusion.

The second is his heart beginning to pound.

He opens his mouth to ask why the man, who he hasn't seen in seven years, is there, but before he can make any sound there's three fingers slipping into his mouth and a pair of legs clambering over the side of the bed to straddle his waist and hold him down. The other hand, that same crooked knife clutched inside, moves to press the blade against his neck.

The curtains billow in the chilly night air.

_Daniel._

Max struggles for a moment before the frozen metal presses harder, the sharp pain of the slice making him close his eyes in distress. What the fuck?

He goes to bite the fingers in his mouth, but the second his jaw flexes the knife is digging in again.

Max freezes until the pressure lessens just so.

His jaw unclenches.

The fingers taste salty and clean, like hand sanitizer and sweat, nearly making him gag. They’d gone immediately to hook behind his teeth, the nails gently scraping the bottom of his mouth and the pads of his fingers rubbing against Max’s gums. His lips started to tremble as he tried to relax, tried to get his wits about him, try to figure out what the fuck to do.

Daniel shifts on top of him, reminding him of where the fucking psycho was perched.

Max started to slowly open his eyes.

The blonde was smiling in the moonlight.

Like a fucking psycho, might he add. And emphasize.

“If you’re a good boy, I won’t slice open your throat like a bag of candy corn.” Daniel whispered from behind his grin, those oddly yellowed teeth.

Ugh, he liked candy corn?

A shiver went down Max’s spine. Daniel’s fingers tightened, bringing tears to his eyes, and he nodded jerkily, trying not to jostle the knife or worsen the pain in his mouth.

Daniel’s fingers loosened in his mouth until they were just resting there, that smile still present, the man’s eyes half-lidded as he looked down.

“Are you ready to listen?” He crooned.

Max swallowed around his fingers, shivering again as the disgusting taste stains his mouth. God, this was nasty.

Did he have a choice here?

His hands are trapped under the covers and between Daniel’s thighs, and it feels obvious that any struggling would end in him losing his head, alice in wonderland style. So he swallows the fear and nods slowly.

Daniel removes his fingers slowly, then pets Max’s cheek, the saliva smearing disgustingly over his cheek. He wants to gag.

“If you scream, you’re dead. And whoever comes to help you.” Daniel nods solemnly.

“What do you want?” Max croaks, throat hurting from the way his heart had been pounding at the back of it, from the way Daniel had held his mouth closed and held him here.

Daniel slid his fingers up to catch a loose curl, twirling it around with wet fingers. “What do I want?” He almost purred, so pleased with himself and with the question.

Had he been this slow and condescending when Max was ten?

Had Max been this fucking defenseless when he was ten?

“I almost had all of your little friends ascended.” Daniel sighs, smiling at the curl he had trapped. “You even joined, willingly, in the end! Such a bright, smiling little face.”

His neck creaked as he turned to look at Max.

“Do you remember how safe that felt? How good it was to be pure?” He flashed his teeth and leaned closer, his face barely inches away.

Max’s breath hitched as his mouth started to go dry.

Honestly? Fuck, he did remember.

It’d taken everything in his willpower not to think about that. In middle school, when life was an absolute shitfest, he’d pushed memories of the sauna and it’s soothing words away. In ninth grade, when he felt helpless and angry and hurt, he’d nearly torn his hair out crying and forcing himself not to look up the Kool-Aid Killer. In tenth grade he’d barely managed to avoid thinking about it by keeping away from white clothing altogether, and in eleventh grade he focused so hard on his schoolwork that there was no room for memories of cultists.

But now he was a senior.

And here was the fucking cultist.

His luck, right?

“You’re not answering, so I’ll assume you know _exactly_ what I mean.”

Daniel’s smile remains.

Fuck, Max wants to die.

Daniel’s hand moves so that his fingers can ghost along Max’s scar, the one intersecting his left eyebrow, the one he’d had to get over thirty stitches for when he was eight.

“You know, I read your file… couldn’t they smell the kool-aid from a mile away?” He whispers slowly, echoing Nikki from so long ago, sounding much too close for comfort.

“How the fuck did you get my file?” Max gritted out.

Daniel turned his head to the side slowly, those disgusting cracks echoing through the otherwise silent room.

“What? Oh silly, I just asked.”

Fuck the medical system in this country.

Max swallowed and closed his eyes as Daniel started to gently trace the pale lines, the zigzagging and crossing pattern.

“And?” He stayed deathly still.

The cultist tutted gently as his cold fingers kept moving. “No eight-year-old would bump into a table and make a bottle fall onto their head at that speed, at that angle. No, the uncle did it.”

How did a freak he’d met once when he was ten understand more from a shitty medical file than any adult who’d been present at the time? His own mother?

“Fucking and?”

Daniel laughed once and moved his hand down to catch Max’s chin.

“I have a proposition for you, little boy.”

Max swallowed, feeling the cold metal again, feeling a drop of blood slowly roll down his skin.

“What the fuck is it?”

“Come with me.”

The younger boy stared at him blankly.

When he realized that the cultist was being serious, he couldn’t help the snort.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I come with you?”

Daniel hummed and moved to start petting his cheek again where the saliva had dried. “Because of my charm?”

“Because I’m asking nicely?”

“Because it’s in your best interest?”

The smile cracked into a smirk.

“Because you don’t want to know what’ll happen if you disagree?”

Could Max disagree?

“And where the fuck are you taking me?” It comes out as a whisper.

“So you’ll come?”

“You’re not gonna fucking let me say no.”

Daniel moved his hand to press the back of it, still so cold, to Max’s forehead.

“You can always say no.” He chided softly.

“But sometimes…” The knife disappeared. “Saying it has repercussions.”

Max waited for a long moment for the worst, but instead there’s those fingernails again, tracing over that scar on his left eyebrow.

“If you come with me… you’ll have to trust me.” Daniel’s eyes are heavy again, nearly shut, the blue hardly visible at all.

“And how the fuck will I do that?”

“You’ll learn.”

“What if I don’t do whatever it is right?”

Daniel smoothed the pads of his fingers over Max’s skin, growing clammy in the cold room.

“You will.”

It feels like a guarantee, a contract.

Aren’t seventeen-year-olds legally incapable of signing contracts?

Daniel kept gently touching and rubbing Max’s face, his other hand free to massage and touch and press against the skin.

The psycho hadn’t been this fucking touchy when they last met, had he?

Max slowly pulled his hands free, letting them hover between them for a moment, waiting, nervous.

Daniel didn’t protest.

Max closed his eyes for a second and sighed.

He’d figure out how to get out of this one later.


End file.
